


Devil In My Mind

by AlexiaHalloran



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Parents, Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Drama, Anxiety, Bad Decisions, Bad Parenting, But also sexy?, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, I'm trying my best, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Killgrave is a terrible person I know, Manipulation, Mental Health Issues, Ok it doesn't really get better, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Probably because its David Tenannt, Psychosis, Romance, Sorry Not Sorry, Tags May Change, This is a story that needs telling, Trish Walker sucks at being a good friend, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, so here i am
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-06-09 18:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19481662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaHalloran/pseuds/AlexiaHalloran
Summary: Kilgrave has returned, and he is hellbent on winning her over. Maybe, just maybe, she can use this to her advantage.Update 17/5/2020: I've decided I won't be continuing this work. Since I started it I've made huge progress in my therapy and coming to terms with my abusive childhood and writing this relationship between Jessica and Kilgrave really digs into that trauma, so for the sake of my own mental health, I'm not going to finish the story. I hate unfinished fics and I hate leaving my own stuff unfinished even more, but I'm not willing to jeopardize my mental health over this. I'd apologize but I don't think I actually have anything to apologize for, really.





	1. Dark and Stormy Rooftops

Far below her the pointlessly determined bustle of the city echoed down canyons made of glass and concrete. Jessica swung her legs off the edge of the roof, the chilly night breeze throwing her hair back from her face as she peered down into the yawning abyss. Cars stood bumper to bumper, corralled by the endless streams of pedestrians and red lights. 

She heard him approaching before she saw him. The scuff of confident footsteps against the of the gravel paths of the rooftop gardens. Gardens. He always had been a hopeless romantic, in his own weird way. Jessica sighed, swinging her legs up and rising to her feet as he came closer. She shoved her hands into her armpits and refused to face him. 

“Jessica.” The rich purr of his voice was as seductive as she remembered it. And still dangerous, she reminded herself, glaring stoically at the bank of windows across the street. 

“Jessica, come now.”

She swivled her head to glare at him over her shoulder, “What do you want, asshole.”

He was dressed in in purple, as always, and lit softly by the glow of the stupid fairy lights draped across the trellises. It lent an ironically heavenly glow to his features, to the slant of his shoulders, to the crease of his suit at the elbow. She turned to face him, hands still folded tightly across her chest. 

“I only came to talk.” He pulled his hands from his pockets, raising them just enough to seem defensive. 

“About what.”

He gave a small sigh, “Come now, Jessica. I’m only trying to work things out.”  
“Work things out?” She let her incredulity creep into her voice, “You mean the part where I left you for dead or the part where you kept me prisoner for a whole year.”

He looked at her with his stupid, soft brown eyes, framed by his crooked nose and shapely brows. She hated him. She loathed every fiber of his being and yet somehow he was still attractive. Somehow it was possible that after all he put her through, that she still noticed the curve of his neck, his lips, the crinkle around his eyes when he looked at her. The slant of his body and the elegance of his long fingers as he absently check his cuffs. 

She scowled. 

“You wound me, Jessica.”

“Well it’s true.” She retorted.

“You wanted to stay.”

“Yeah, because you wanted me to, moron. Now fi you don’t have anything better to say, I’m leaving.”

She took as step towards the door and his gaze flickered. Just for the slightest moment, but she could’ve sworn that desperation flashed through his gaze.  
It intrigued her enough that she stopped her second step as he opened his mouth.

“I love you.”

“You what.” Her voice was flat. Flat as a fucking board. Her step fell hard on the gravel in the silence that suddenly snapped into place between them. 

“I love you.” That silence shattered. 

The crack in his voice as his said it struck a traitorous chord somewhere in her cold dead heart and she snorted, “You don’t love me.”

“I do.” He stepped closer to her, hand reaching for her cheek. She slapped him away. Hard. Hard enough that his shoulder followed his arm around as she threw it away from her face. 

Expensive shoes scraped in the gravel as he regained his balance. 

“Jessica.” No longer did he sound vulnerable. That darkness had returned to his silky British accent as he held his hand, dark eyes boring into hers. He was so very dangerous. 

“What do you want me to say, Kilgrave. That I’m sorry? I’m not. That’s I forgive you? Cuz I don’t. You made my life hell.”

“You left me for dead.” 

“Maybe you deserved it.” She spat. But even to her own ears she sounded doubtful. Doubtful, after all that he’d put her though. Jessica clenched her jaw and shoved her hands deeper into her armpits. 

“You don’t really believe that though do you? I see it in your eyes.”

“Yeah.” She grunted, “Right. Bye asshole. See you never.”

He let her go. Let her walk away from him, through the door, and down the stairs. Not once did he call after her. 

Shaking, she reached the bottom of the stairs and collapsed against the wall. She knew she should leave - get as far away from that bastard as she could - but at the moment she could barely move. Could barely breath. The whole world was fuzzy. 

“Birch Street.” She whispered to herself. She was safe, for the moment. She had to be.

“Higgins Drive.” If he came after her she’d just have to punch his pretty face into the wall. 

“Cobalt Lane.”

The sound of footsteps reached her too late. 

“Please don’t run.”

She stumbled upright. He was standing at the base of the stairs, still cradling his wrenched arm. Angrily, she swept the tears from her face with the sleeve of her coat, “What the hell do you want from me.”

“Give me a second chance.” The way it was phrased was a statement, and yet the way he spoke it was a question. Jessica nearly put a hole in the wall. The audacity of this man, to ask her to forgive him. And yet. And yet there was the smallest glimmer of opportunity. 

He’d come after her again. Too many people had already been hurt around her because of him. Trish, Malcom, Luke. Reva. Too many, on her account. He had to be stopped. He had to be stopped. He had to be. This was her chance in. 

Summoning the dregs of her courage, she glared up at him, “You gonna take me out for dinner or some shit?”

“I’d like to take you home.”

“Right. Whatever. Prick.”

“I promise I will not compel you.”

She froze in her tracks, eyes snapping to his, “You what?”

“I will not use my powers on you. I swear it.”

“Jesus dude. Why the hell should I believe you?”

“You will.”

As he said it his expression changed; changed to something almost like a conspirators wink as he watched her. She didn’t believe him though. She didn’t believe him. She didn’t-

“The hell?”

Kilgrave looked at her, long and hard with those bloody expressive eyes of his. Eyes that flickered between hope and despair and lust and something else.   
“You believe me, because I can’t.”

Her mind short-circuited. She went blank. He couldn’t get to her. She was fucking free. But he wanted her to give him a second chance anyway. Had come here tonight knowing full well that he was powerless against her, and somehow that implied an implicit trust that he held in her. He actually had trusted her not to figure this out and immediately throw him off the nearest building. She’d slapped him away from her. And throwing him off the building still seemed an appealing idea.   
He’d trusted her not to do it. Maybe he’d known she wouldn’t, or maybe he really would do anything to get her back.   
In his own twisted way, she supposed, he really did love her. 

For fuck’s sake why her. Why did it have to be her. 

She was stuck now. She had to go because if she didn’t he’d find a different way to manipulate her. Kilgrave was nothing if not persistent when it came to accomplishing something. Although it usually came to him far easier.

And if she did take him up on his ludicrous offer, then maybe, just maybe; she could temper his psychopathic madness. 

Jessica sighed and grabbed him by the arm, “Alright fine. Get yourself in a cab, and go home. Wherever that is. Text me the address. I’ll find you. Now piss off.”

Stupid face flooded with emotions and injured arm clutched to his chest, Kilgrave stumbled out the door and she watched as he hailed a cab. Watched as it drove off. And then closed her eyes and cried silent tears into the empty doorframe. Fucking fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. This was stupid plan. A really shit plan. What the hell was she thinking.


	2. Impatience and Impertinence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kilgrave will make her see, whatever it takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned this definitely does not start off even anywhere even remotely close to healthy (and most likely they won't end terribly healthily either but here goes anyway). I'm writing this more as a character study of abusive relations and an elaboration on a well-crafted and interesting character. Probably makes me a terrible person. oh well i guess. it's 2:15AM don't judge me

Kilgrave slumped into the backseat of the cab, fishing his phone from his suit with the hand that didn’t still smart from Jessica’s slap. 

Flipped it open. Typed the address of the house into the text bar, then deleted it and filled in the address of his favorite hotel. Deleted that. Retyped it. Deleted it. Retyped it again. Hit send. 

“Palace Hotel. Now.”

The driver obliged, taking a sharp left hand turn onto the Queensboro Bridge. Outside the window the water reflected the myriad lights in a shifting pattern of introspection that morphed so suddenly into the vertical ladders of lit and unlit windows. 

His cab pulled up in front of the hotel and Kilgrave slunk out of it, dismissing the driver with half a sentence, already striding towards the doors. Lights sunk into a strange medley of old brickwork and modern glass leered down at him as he trod across a bed of flowers that stood between him and the entrance.

The moment he stepped into the lobby, he could feel the attention of a dozen wealthy patrons and another dozen finely-dressed waitstaff turn to him. A blushing young woman dressed in a slim black dress shuffled up to him, “How may I help you, sir?”

“Your best suite.”

“I- There’s- I’m afraid it’s occupied, sir.”

He opened his mouth to command her to empty it before Jessica’s cold and disapproving stare flashed against his mind and he sighed, “What rooms are open?”

“There’s a suite on the fiftieth floor, sir.”

“That one will do I suppose.”

She nodded, scurrying behind the counter to tap something into a computer and grab a key from the rack, “What’s your name, sir?”

“Oh that doesn’t matter. You’ll make something up, I’m sure. Now, give me the key.”

“Of course, sir.”

She handed him the key and he slid it into his pocket, stalking across the lobby past a gaggle of middle-aged women blushing like school girls, and into the elevator where he slammed his finger into the button number 50.

Sliding aluminum doors spat him into a plushly carpeted hall opposite a door marked 5003. Checking the key tag, Kilgrave turned left and grumbled his way down the hall until he reached 5009 with an expression on his face that might scorch anyone who looked at him for too long. 

There was a good chance she wouldn’t even turn up. A very good chance that if she did, he’d end the night with a bloody nose or unconscious or both. He snarled, slamming the key down on the table and prowling into the bedroom. What a difficult woman, Jessica Jones. And yet so impossible to forget and leave behind. 

The sheets were despicably white and he picked up the phone and dialed room service. 

“I have issue with my bedlinnens.”

“Yes sir,” Came the tinny reply, “We’ll send someone up to you immediately.”  
He banged the phone down and strode restlessly back into the kitchen only to be interrupted by his own phone, which buzzed angrily in his pocket. Nearly dropping it in his haste, Kilgrave flicked it on and checked the text: Be there in 20.

Dropping the phone on the table, he ran his fingers through his hair. The room was ornate. Almost tragically so, and yet somehow just underneath that imaginary line that crossed from tasteful to tacky. With a heavy sigh, he walked into the bathroom and checked himself in the mirror. Smoothed his suit. Then sprawled himself across the couch to wait. 

Five minutes later came a knock on the door. He wrenched it open to reveal a trembling maid bearing a set of mauve silken sheets. Stepping aside, he gestured into the room, “Hurry and be quick about it. I’ve got guests in fifteen minutes.”

His temper was getting the better of him now.

She nodded, almost running into the bedroom in her haste. Kilgrave sighed and undid his tie. Removed his suit jacket. Undid the top button of his shirt and sprawled himself out along the couch. 

Stewed there for a moment before redoing the button and shrugging his jacket back on. He checked his watch, then checked the maid. She was carefully folding the covers up over the bed and Kilgrave stood in the door, watching her work until the moment she was done, at which point he snapped at her.

“Get out. Now. Take all of your things and leave and do not bother me again.”

She obliged, scurrying past him with a disgustingly terrified look in her eyes. He sighed again and rubbed his face, staring at the door. Jessica would be here any moment, and this was his chance to get her back. To win her over again. And of course, he’d love it if she chose him of her own will, but he could be plenty cunning even without compelling her. 

He loved her, and sooner or later, she’d see that, whether she wanted to or not.


	3. A Fucking Shitstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica makes the mistake of letting him pick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so this chapter just kind goes straight off the deep end. it's a bit schizophrenic. This started off as sort of a character piece of what-ifs and suddenly became a piece fed by my own dealings with toxic and possibly abusive relationships whoops. So um, considered yourself warned, i Guess.

Jessica stared up at the outside of the hotel, the lights flickering in the night like a damn film. With a heavy sigh she double checked the lay of her jacket and ground the heel of her boot into the sidewalk to try and fix her sock. Having failed at that, she shoved her hands into her pockets, tugged on her shirt through her coat, and stomped towards the door. Passerby shied away from her as she stalked through the lobby and stabbed her finger into the elevator call button. 

She hated this. Hated that he’d barely gotten back and already he was dragging her out to dinners like a pet. She hated herself for giving in so easily. 

The elevator doors were polished to a mirror sheen and she stared her reflection down. Dark eyeshadow had already begun to bleed under her eyes, making her look as though she’d been up all night. Admittedly, she had been up since early that morning and it was some ungodly late hour by now. She hadn’t checked. 

Ding went the elevator as the doors slid open and she stepped inside, jabbing the door button as a woman hurried towards her, the doors hissing shut just before the woman arrived leaving Jessica with a feeling of hollow triumph as the elevator shuddered upwards. 

Wood panels framed oversized mirrors that threw her reflection back at her in all its haggard glory. She’d swapped her normal jeans and t-shirt for a pair of black, mostly intact ones, knowing that Kilgrave would tut about her ripped knees if she didn’t.  
Instead she just looked like a hungover goth party girl. 

Jessica rolled her eyes at her reflection and turned away from the mirror, slinking out of the elevator and into the hallway. It was then that she realized she didn’t actually know which room Kilgrave had picked. 

So she shouldered into the room marked Staff and adressed the closet, most frightened laundry maid she could see, “You. Seen a creepy British guy in a stupid purple suit?”

“Yes- uh yes ma’am I have yes.”

Jessica pitied the girl. And made a mental note to smack Kilgrave for it later. It gave her sense of prideful glee, knowing that she could consider smacking him a genuine possibility. 

“Look, just tell me what room he’s in. And then go home and have a cup of tea or a drink of something really damn strong.”

“The-the-the suite down the hall ma’am he’s down there.”

She pointed to her left and Jessica nodded.

“He can’t hurt you now. I’ll stop him if he tries. Now go home and calm down.”

The maid nodded, swiping her hand across her tear-stained face as she turned and scurried off. 

Jessica shoved her hands even further into her pockets and stormed off towards his room. She wasn’t afraid of him. He didn’t have a damn thing on her anymore. 

And yet the moment the door opened, she froze. His gaze pinned her to the spot as he stared at her from where he sprawled across an armchair, glass of wine dangling so casually from one hand. His suit was open, the top two buttons of his shirt undone.  
Normally so groomed, he had an almost chaotic air about him now. She knew he’d done it so purposefully. To catch her off guard. 

She stepped into the room and slammed the door shut behind her. Goddamit if she would let him get to her. She’d played it good on the rooftop, and the hell she was gonna slip now. 

“Hello, Jessica.” He drawled, savoring her name in his mouth in a way that made her want to punch him out the window even as her insides turned cold. The fear. There it was; the kind of fear that spreads through your insides and prickles in every part of your body until you can’t breath and you can’t move and you can’t think. 

Her mouth opened but nothing came out. 

“Come, Jessica. Come here and sit with me.” 

There were two options now. She could do exactly the opposite of what he said and risk his wrath, or she could do exactly as he’d said and have to be near that smarmy presence of his. 

Strong no to the smarmy presence. No fucking way was she going any closer to him than she had to. In her head, she told herself that she decided strongly against it, but really it was more of second-drawn-out-into-eons wavering of options that only tentatively landed on her side of the fence. 

Thud. 

She plopped down on her floor, crossing her arms in front of her as he stared at her with an alarming twinkle in his eye. 

“If that’s what you wish.”

He slunk from the chair, sliding down into a boneless, graceful heap on the floor that watched her with a predatory gaze. Were he any other man, she would have called him attractive. There was posh air about him that was somehow only bolstered by his slinky grace and big doe’s eyes. 

Jessica glared at him, “I don’t want a damn thing from you, fuckface.”

“Oh now, Jessica!” The hand not holding the wine rose to his chest in a parody of offense even as he leered at her. And a part of screamed to appease him. Instinctual, learned fear reared its violent head at the threat in his posture and she beat it down with a bat. 

“There must be something you want.” He drew the syllables out, chewing them deliberately in his accented speech. The way he did it made her shudder. He knew he was getting to her. He always did. God fucking damn him and his stupid tricks. 

“Not unless you’re gonna piss off and never talk to me again.”

The threat is his posture had been preliminary, she realized now. 

Kilgrave set the wineglass aside, sliding up so that he leaned towards her. Coiled as if to pounce. She balled her fists in her pockets, ready to smash his stupid ass through a window if he tried. 

An apology danced on the tip of tongue, almost out before she could stop it. Clenching her jaw around the words, she swallowed them down. 

“I’m making an effort here, Jessica. Can’t you see? All I am trying to do is show you I love you, and you barge in here - into this hotel room I’ve rented-”

“You didn’t rent it, you ass. You asked someone for it and they handed you the damn key.”

“I didn’t exactly have another choice did I?” He shifted forwards, leaning on his arms as he thrust his torso towards her, face livid. 

“You could’ve paid for it like everyone else!”

“With what money? I’ve been hiding for the past year, trying to put myself back together and track you down after you left me for dead, Jessica!”

Guilt. He’s got her feeling fucking guilty about this now and fuck she hates him. Somehow, though, somewhere, part of her does feel actually sorry for him. She did leave him alone for dead in a street. And yeah, maybe that was fucking shitty of her but he wasn’t gonna pin this whole charade on her.

“No. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare pin this on me, Kilgrave. You’re the one who showed up after a year, sending me messages and tailing me until I agree to meet with you. And then you go and coerce yourself a smarmy hotel room with, with-” Jessica cast about for something to insult him about, “With golden fucking flower vases to try and convince me that you love me? This isn’t love Kilgrave. This is not. Love.”

She’s standing. She doesn’t know when she stood up, but she’s standing now, looming over Kilgrave as he sprawled across the floor, leaning back to look up at her. His ridiculously pretty brown eyes almost fearful, and she realizes that she actually does have the control here. She could beat him up and he couldn’t stop her. 

And then she wouldn’t be any better than him. That thought froze her blood in her veins. She couldn’t be like him, could she? She wouldn’t be like him. No. 

NononononoNO.

Her legs nearly gave out underneath her as she backed away; far away as she could get before collapsing back against the wall and sliding down into a little heap on the floor. Tears blurred her vision as she pulled her legs tight against her chest, only the word NO echoing through her blank mind. 

Floorboards creaked as Kilgrave approached her, and she couldn’t find the strength to push him away as he pulled her into his lap and cradled her head against his chest. Revulsion curling in her gut warred with an unbidden, unwarranted sense of security as he wrapped her in his arms.

How she could feel safe in his arms, even now, she didn’t want to know. Not after all the terrible things he’d done. Not after everything he’d done to her. To the others. Didn’t want to know what that made her. So she let him hold her against his chest, to dazed to resist. Though whether she was resisting him or herself, she couldn’t tell. 

Even now, she thought to herself, even now he could twist her thoughts and her feelings around and around in circles until she didn’t know which ones were hers and which ones weren’t. 

As his delicate fingers stroked against her shoulder, his heart beat beneath her cheek, reminding her that somewhere, buried deep beneath the layers of charm and violence, was a human being. Human beings could be redeemed, she told herself. That’s what she was doing. She was going to redeem him. Somehow. He had to be redeemable. Otherwise she was here… She was here… no. She couldn’t be. She fucking couldn’t be. 

Jessica closed her eyes and let him gently blot the tears from her face as she sobbed against him, body wracked with shivers that had no identifiable source. A drink. That was what she needed. A really strong drink in large fucking amounts.


	4. Narcissim and Elevator Buttons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp I know it took me a while to update; this story hits a bit too close for comfort and takes a lot out of me to write, but here we are: have some alcoholism and bone-deep fear.

She was still curled against him, though he’d picked her up in his arms and moved them to the couch where he’d pressed a glass into her hands and stroked his fingers through her hair. His body was sprawled out beneath her as she rested her head against his chest. Delicate fingers stroked her hair so softly that the gentleness of his touch and the closeness of his body brought tears to her eyes once more. Fingers curled into his sleeve, grabbing the arm that he’d folded across her torso. 

Her mind was a foggy mess, warring between anger and fear and hope. She could do nothing about the visceral reaction of comfort that his warmth brought to her while her mind rebelled against it, telling her she should be fighting him, screaming to let her go.   
A year ago she’d promised herself she’d never let him get her again. And she’d believed herself too. Right up until he’d scooped her up off the floor like her knight in shining armor and offered her both a drink and physical comfort. 

Jessica gave a little sigh into his shirt and turned her head so that she could look up at him, his brown eyes so soft, crinkling around the edges where age had begun to wrinkle his skin into crow’s feet. 

If she had been looking there for reassurance, she didn’t find it. Instead, despite the softness of the gaze that met hers, a thrill of fear jolted through her body and she threw herself away from him, cowering at the opposite end of the couch. Every nerve in her body was suddenly so very alive and aware of the slightest movement in the couch and the faintest noise. 

Her blood thundered through her veins as she gulped down short, panicked breaths.   
Kilgrave startled too, one hand automatically reaching for her, “Jessica?”

“Stay away from me.”

The hand fell limply to his lap, his brown eyes suddenly doe-like in their surprised concern. 

Concern. 

She nearly laughed at the idea that he would be concerned for her. No, he was concerned about himself. He always was. 

That was the way his stupid world worked. It just revolved around him. There was never room for anyone else; at least not for long and never out of true caring. Anyone who happened to fall into Kilgrave’s orbit either left again very quickly or stayed because they could give him something or get him somewhere. 

Jessica’s stomach clenched as he tried again, leaning carefully towards her, “Jessica, love, what’s wro-”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” 

She’d vaulted over the couch arm at somepoint so that she was standing behind it as though it could shield her from all the world.

“I’m sorry?”

Confusion replaced worry and she scoffed at his bullshit.

“You know what I mean, asshole. I’m not you fucking love. I’m an obsession. You have no idea what love really is. No fucking clue.”

“Jessica-”

“No. Fuck off. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. I’m going home.”

She grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the side table and gestured threateningly with it, “And don’t fucking follow me, or set a tail on me, or any of that creepy shit, got it?”  
Jessica didn’t wait for answer, just stormed away from him, slamming the door shut behind her and struggling to keep a sob from escaping her throat. She was shaking and sweating and nauseous and so, so angry. 

So angry that when she jabbed the elevator call button, she put her finger through the wall.

“Shit. Shit shit shit. Goddamit.”

He’d see that. Know it had been her.

Right now though, she just needed out of the building. Away from him. At the end of the hall was a window. She walked towards it, pulling the cap from the bottle and taking a long swig of burning liquor. 

It stung her chest and tingled in her arms as she yanked the window open, taking another swig before dropping out of it and landing hard on the concrete fifty stories down. A drunk couple tripped out of her way, making a large ark around her and whispering loudly. 

Jessica ignored them, stepped in front of the nearest cab, and hailed her ride home. The cabbie spared her no more than half a glance as she climbed into his backseat disheveled and shaking with a bottle in head. 

‘Where too miss?” He asked with the resigned tone of someone expecting an incoherent place name and a tragic life story. 

“Hell’s Kitchen. Get a move on.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He replied, throwing the car out into the late night traffic and pointing them towards her apartment. 

Fucking hell.


	5. Never Clean Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessica returns to her flat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) sorry this took me so long to update I have no excuse  
> 2) I know it's short, I still have no excuse  
> 3) I am working on the next chapter and hopefully that one will be both longer and up soon

When she reached her apartment, she was still shaking but it was more out of anger then out of fear now. Throwing the empty bottle down on the floor so that it shattered into a million tiny, viciously sharp pieces, she slammed her broken apartment door behind so hard that it cracked and fell completely off it’s hinges.  
Frustrated, she picked the door up and tossed it back into it’s place. Tomorrow she’d probably forget and try and open it and it would fall over on her, but that was a problem for later.  
Groaning, she stumbled across her apartment, watching the world turn sickeningly around her as thought she was in the universe’s tumbler dryer.  
„Fuck.“ She muttered to herself.  
Her skin still felt like it was crawling from his touch.  
„Fuck fuck fuck.“  
Stripping off her clothes she climbed into the hottest shower she could endure and snatched the soap bar from the tub ledge. With as little ceremony as possible, she set about scouring herself clean so violently that her skin began to turn red and her whole body began to sting in the stream of the water. Steam curled up into the dingy glow of the single light in the bathroom ceiling, spiraling around it. She hated that.  
Pipes groaned and whistled in the walls like ghosts come to get her.  
Her skin itched and stung in the relentless torrent of the leaky shower head.  
It didn’t last long.  
By the time she stepped out of the shower and wrapped her towel around her, her skin had gone back to pink and smooth. Haggard, unfocused eyes glared back at her from her foggy reflection in the mirror as she stood there in the bathroom, swaying enough to draw blurry streaks across the wall.  
Shivering now, she stalked out of the bathroom and pulled on a raggedy grey tank top and a pair of leggings. Then a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants over that. Followed by a whole glass of whiskey.  
Her legs nearly gave out under her as she took the last few steps to a bed that seemed to faze in and out of proper existence and flopped bonelessly into it, yanking the covers up to her chin and curling into a ball.  
Even after scouring herself clean, she could still feel his phantom touch on her.  
„No.“ She groaned into her pillow.  
„Shit.“  
Heavy eyelids threatened to eclipse the haloed light of the dim streetlight outside her window. She was already sweating hot, but there was no way she was taking her layers off. The world grew darker and brighter and brighter and darker as her body sank further and further into the mattress. Single, disconnected words pinged randomly through her head as she drifted into obliviousness.


	6. The One and Only Jessica Jones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trish Walker tries her best, and it just isn't good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. Gods this knocks my feet out from under me every time I try and add to it but anyway, I wrote this through tears but it's here so I hope you enjoy it; although appreciate might be a better word to use, considering that it hurts. And as always comments and constructive feedback are highly appreciated. (also I tried to change that tags and for some reason they just got super fucked up instead so there's that)

Bright sunlight streamed in through her window, making for an unpleasant sensation when she cracked open one eye, the sudden brightness sending a pang of pain through her skull. Her body ached despite having no bruises and she was soaked with sweat. Blankets were tangled around her legs and strands of hair clung to her cheeks. 

Jessica yanked herself free from the confines of her bed and struggled out into the kitchen. Glass shards littered the floor like the ashes of a dying star, glittering in the sunlight and slicing at her feet every time she stepped on one. 

Ignoring the trail of little blood droplets that followed her, Jessica shoved a piece of bread into the toaster and the leaned herself against the counter, wrapping her arms around her torso and choking back the tears. 

Where there had once been stoic hatred and surefire victory was now nothing but quiet doubt and widening chasms of devouring anxiety. She’d have to work this out. Probably on some asshole. 

Or the one who was approaching her apartment.

The door clattered to the ground, sending glass shards flying across the floor and launching tiny splinters into the air. 

Jessica was in the living room before the air had settled, poised to boot the intruder right back out the way he fucking came. 

Except it was Trish.

“Jesus, Jessica. What happened?”

“He’s back.” She croaked, voice hoarse from sleep and exhaustion, hands still balled in fists. 

“You don’t mean-?”

“Yeah. I do.” She replied as she pulled the toast from the toaster and shoved it into her mouth without further effort. 

“Are you sure?” There was a pause and then, “Did you just eat a straight piece of toast?” Trish asked, carefully picking her way through the disaster. 

“So what if I did.” Jessica mumbled through a mouthful of said disgustingly bland toast. 

Trish opened her mouth to respond but Jessica jerked her head towards the bedroom. 

Glass splinters shredded the bottoms of her already-healing feet, leaving an uncomfortable trail of bloody footprints all across the apartment.  
“Come on.” She grumbled, though with the toast in the way it sounded more like Cumungh.

Trish followed after her as Jessica tramped into the bedroom and plopped down on the messy bed, groping behind her for the bottle of whiskey she’d tossed aside. 

“Are you sure he’s back?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure.”

“Have you seen him, Jess? It’s not your PTSD?”

“Jesus fucking christ, Trish.” Jessica muttered, internally wishing her sister wasn’t such a thick-headed do-gooder.

She yanked down one of her pairs of pants and grunted, plopping backwards onto the bed as the pant leg caught on her foot. 

“But have you seen him?”

“Yes, I’ve seen him. Why is that so fucking hard for you to get?” A muscle in her jaw twitched as Jessica bit down on her tongue. Hard. 

“Jess-.”

“Don’t Jess me." She snapped, yanking her leg free and shooting to her feet, "Get out over here if you're gonna fucking coddle me.” She slammed her fist down on the nightstand, shattering the bottle she was holding. 

Trish flinched and Jessica felt a sick sense of satisfaction as she shook droplets of whiskey from her fingers, watching her sister.

"I'm just trying to help."

“Cut the shit, Trish. If you’re gonna come in here and act like everybody else, then get the fuck out.”

“Fine.” Trish snapped back, raising her hands defensively and stalking away. 

“Fine!” Jessica shouted after her as the door slammed shut. Her fists shook by her sides, mouth working though no sound came out of it. Tears blurred her vision as she fell to the floor, silent sobs wracking her body as she gasped; anger raced through her body, setting fire to her very blood and trimming her muscles in tension as she shook, pressing her hands into the cracking floorboards; every part of her seeming to burn in agony as she screamed soundlessly: screamed at Trish for being such a shitty friend, screamed at her for not coming back, screamed at Kilgrave.

Screamed at the world. 

And then she collapsed forwards, head knocking against the corner of the dresser as she tipped over before landing hard on the wooden floorboards. The anger left her body, replaced by a feeling of lead numbness. Tears leaked down her cheeks, flowing over her jawbone and down behind her ear into her hair. 

Jessica couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. All she could do was lay, helpless, on the floor, as all the pain and despair that had been so tightly locked behind iron bars came flooding out. Trish tried to care for her, but she couldn’t. Just couldn’t. And Kilgrave, despite his actions seeming from some place of confused good intent, was such a twisted asshole about it that she’d left him for dead without looking back. 

She was alone. She always had been and she always would be. And it would never change.


End file.
